


It Was Always You

by vintagemusings



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bisexual Female Character, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Time Skips, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagemusings/pseuds/vintagemusings
Summary: In 1998, Inara Sharpe meets Nick Stokes and they have a one-night stand. Over the next eighteen years, their lives continue to intertwine.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what everyone thinks!

Naturally, I was so very thrilled at my father’s insistence of me going along with him to Las Vegas. Oh, yes, I totally understand why I need to be there. I’m so helpful. Please. I don’t even know what he’s worried about. The case it open and shut. The guy did it; the FBI has evidence, that crime lab over there does too. Absolutely no need for me to be going as an analyst. There is no other reason either—I’m eighteen for god sake; can’t gamble, drink, and I’m certainly not moonlighting as a stripper. Clearly, preparing for my first semester at college, UPenn no less, didn’t seem enough of a reason to leave me behind.

Las Vegas looks fake—like something from a comic book, or one of my dad’s pornos that he oh-so-carefully conceals. And everyone swears he’s a great investigator. The hotel is nice enough. I’m surprised that we’re not in some motel, like we’ve been in the past. The Tangiers. Sounds like the fruit, but it’s nice enough. I think my dad knows the owner or something; he seems to know everyone; I wouldn’t be surprised if they were “intimate friends,” as he likes to say.

This crime lab actually appears pretty legit. I’ve read that it’s one of the busiest in the country…I guess with a city that literally never sleeps, the influx of crime mirrors the city’s pulse. Speaking of never sleeping, I guess my father is determined to keep me up. Not that I’m not usually up at this hour; still, it would be nice to get a chance to adjust to the time difference and maybe at least catch a few hours of shut eye. He of course would argue that I should’ve slept on the plane like he did—it’s not my fault I find it impossible to do so, and after nearly six years of intermittently taking me with him all across the country, he should know that by now.

You know, there are a lot of attractive people in Vegas. I wonder what it is. Sure, D.C. has its share of good looking people, but it’s nothing like here. These people are crime techs and law enforcement—some of the least attractive people are in local law enforcement. It’s a common joke among my Dad’s co-workers that the only beautiful people in law enforcement are F.B.I. Special Agents. Gerber, when he was new, once piped up saying—what about CIA people, aren’t they pretty? Everyone laughed. Spies aren’t law enforcement, ya dummy. I think Wilcox said that.

These people here at this lab though, they could give some of those guys a run for their money. Case in point, that guy that just introduced himself to my father and I. Warrick Brown. I’d guess 6’3”; god he’s toned, beautiful eyes, dark skin, nice smile…my guess would be he’s about thirty. Dad was looking him over too, but everything about Mr. Brown screamed hetero to the both of us. I could tell my dad was on the hunt for some flesh. His vice; one that was quickly becoming mine.

I wish I wasn’t so tuned to this assistant supervisor’s energy, he’s much too old for any sort of flirtatious action from me; for it to be seen as normal anyway. Quiet, genius, withdrawn, bugs? Gil Grissom, aged…probably early forties. His eyes are so kind, so guarded; ugh, why am I like this? I should probably be listening to Mr. Grissom’s run-down of his lab’s evidence. I doubt there’s much more that’s new—they just were finally able to get a print from a crime scene to nail the guy, and then get a confession.

Calgary Mathers, aka the Four Corners Butcher, had brutally murdered at least nine young women over the last fifteen years. Why he had decided to venture out of his four-state radius to kill was still unanswered, but since he’d been caught, it mattered little the anyone on the prosecution side. Staring at all those photos of his other victims, being there at the last murder in Arizona, seeing that girls body, Brittany Miles, my age, dead, butchered like cattle…I didn’t sleep very well for a few months. And now it was about to be over.

Now, that patrol officer down the hall is cute. He looks young enough, no more than mid-twenties. Probably a rookie…could have some serious insecurities and need to perform. Still, perhaps there’s something I could work with under that tacky uniform. Ugh, I understand why they wear that color, but did they have to choose that exact shade of khaki turd?

Matt, the patrol officer, is indeed a rookie, twenty-four years of age, miss. Been on the job two months…I’m already so bored, and yet I’m going to remember this milquetoast’s backstory vividly for at least that long. He is attractive, but upon closer inspection, he’s not as well groomed. His uniform’s a bit sloppy, and he goes to a too-cheap barber, and his accent is thicker than the muddy Mississippi river bank he undoubtedly lived near growing up. Also, he should probably shower a bit more frequently than he does now and cut down on the cologne. Still, he’s definitely into me. I can feel him leaning towards me, as many men do, drinking in my presence, laying down all the lines in order to entrap me for an evening of their pleasure.

Maybe it’s not such a bad idea. He’s cute, and seems pretty harmless…but do I really want boring? What on earth would we talk about before, during, and after sex? Vanessa was always telling me talking during isn’t normal, at least not the way I do it, but come on, shouldn’t you at least be able to have something of a conversation with the person you’re fucking? Not that I’ve had any riveting conversations of late with any of my causal partners.

Now that we’re all out of high school, I couldn’t wait to move on to a more…intellectual sex pool. Completely unrealistic, I logically realize, but it’s certainly better than a jock who doesn’t know how to wash his own face, or the cheerleader who doesn’t know what the capital of the United States is, despite the fact that she fucking lives in it, or the ethereal goth chick who’s too brooding. You would think I’d somehow avoid the stereotypes, but I guess I need them to counteract whatever the fuck kind of energy I’ve got pent up in me.

Is it really too much to ask for a normal person, someone who’s nice and interesting, doesn’t have many hang ups, knows how to shower and what a fucking condom is? Clearly the perfect package didn’t exist in high school…at least not after Vanessa left. It also didn’t help that I can still smell her freckled skin at the most random moments; still feel her caressing my face, kissing me with her cotton candy lip smacker stained lips. And then those lips travelling down between my thighs. Of course, why I was the weird one of the relationship astounded me—she nicknamed my clit for fuck’s sake. Blinky, like the Ms. Pac Man game. I had no idea how to feel about that; still don’t.

Mat the Milquetoast is still talking. I should either fuck him right now or walk away.

Walking away was the ultimate decision. I can’t quite decide if it was the drone of his voice that pushed me away, or the sight of him. Okay, fine, I know the answer. I…I can’t stop looking at him. He walked by me so causally, right beside Warrick, minding his own business, but he looked at me. That smile. Who the hell is he?


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inara gets to meet Nick and has the opportunity to get to know him, though not in the most ideal circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slow burn for smut, but I promise it'll get there...hopefully in the next chapter. Please let me know what you think, feedback is always welcome! <3

He was Nick Stokes, and was 26 going on 27. Just shy of six feet…not that height made much of a difference, me being a small fry who’d stopped growing the moment I hit 5’4”. Thick, sable hair closely cut, bit of a widow’s peak forming. Laugh lines and early signs of crow’s feet were etched into his skin. Did I mention his smile? He has a beautiful smile, one that makes his laugh lines crinkle and lights up his whole face. I tried to come up with a reason to talk to him. I’m not really authorized to be anywhere where tests are taking place…and this is a lab, so I had to be creative. Thankfully I didn’t actually have to tax my brain too hard to come up with a scenario to introduce myself—he wandered into the breakroom as I was making myself a cup of coffee. 

He walked right over too me; my heart involuntarily skipped a beat. I glanced over at him and smiled shyly. Then I realized I was still in front of the coffee pot. “Sorry,” I gushed as I moved away. 

“No problem,” he said, beaming at me. He poured himself a cup and sipped from the dark brew. I’d had to rummage the room for three packets of sugar and borderline sour milk, and there he was, downing it like a pro…I guess he is in fact a pro… “You’re new around here,” he continued, leaning against the counter. “I’m Nick Stokes.” 

He sounded like he was from the South…Texas, maybe? Nothing like Mississippi Matt’s thick drawl…no, his was much softer. I don’t like Southern accents, and yet after those few words, I wanted him to keep talking forever. 

“Inara Sharpe,” I replied, clutching my coffee cup in my hands, “I’m with the F.B.I.” 

“No shit, you’re an agent?” His eyes widened a bit as he looked me up and down. 

“God no,” I laughed nervously, “just an analyst.” 

“Right on,” He said, shifting a little against the counter as he gulped down his drink. He walked over to the garbage and threw away his cup. Before walking out, he turned to me and smiled again, “I’ll see you around.” 

I smiled shyly in return as he walked out the door, my gaze following his receding form. Why I was suddenly so shy around him stumped me; flirting was second-nature to me, so simply talking to this guy shouldn’t have been a problem. There I was though, sweaty palms, heart rate elevated; I bit my lip at least a dozen times during our brief encounter. Black slacks, a tan mock turtle neck, and black work boots—such a drab outfit for someone so engaging. I wonder if he knows how hot he is? Possibly not—Warrick seems to have taken the mantle of “office hottie.” Still, Nick had to have women flocking around him. 

I saw him around briefly over the next week and a half. Per usual with a federal case taking over a local one—particularly one that my father is on—there had been delays with the trial and everything was taking so much longer than it needed to. For example, my father making me look over all the crime scene photos from every case. Tedious and time consuming, to say the least. Not to mention I hadn’t even gotten close to the one that took place here in Vegas until today, nearly five days into the actual trial. The timing of this whole case and my father’s involvement seemed off to me. Then again, the details of the case weren’t given to me…something that puzzled me as well; my father was not one to withhold pertinent information. A sealed trial with virtually no press wasn’t unheard of, but if I was involved in any way with a case, my father generally kept me in the loop. 

It could totally be my imagination, but I get the feeling that he stares at me sometimes, ‘cause I have caught him looking my way a few times, and I could swear he stops in the hallway outside the room I’m stationed in and looks at me; we’ve made eye contact a few times. He smiles every time. Why he doesn’t just come into the fucking room and talk to me is beyond me. 

I don’t have high opinions of myself, but since I’ve been called a beautiful young woman since I was eleven, I know I’m regarded as being attractive. Grown men older than my father have ogled me for the last seven years. Ivory skin, rich auburn hair, slight hourglass shape, large bust that showed up by the time I was fifteen—I even have green eyes. Aesthetically, I’m desirable, as I’ve been told, many, many times over. Still, I wouldn’t say that I’m so much of a beauty that someone like Nick would be too scared to approach me. Of course, he could just always be busy—

“Are you busy?” He said, cutting perfectly into my thoughts. Funny I didn’t note the soft thud of his boots coming in. 

“Depends on your definition,” I replied. I shuffled through several photographs that were on the table, trying to look like I was still focused on my original task. He stood there, shuffling his feet. “I am, but not really. I’m nearly finished going over victim #8, Jessie Colburn’s, file. Why do you ask?” 

He chuckled nervously as he scratched the back of his head and looked around the room. I couldn’t help but bite my lip as he did—his shirt hitched up a little as he raised his arm, revealing just a little bit of his abdomen. His bicep bulged a little as he bent his arm; he wasn’t even flexing. I wonder if he was an athlete in high school or college? 

“I was wondering if you would be interested in seeing a bit of Vegas and grabbing a bite to eat?” He said after a moment. 

I smiled at him; I couldn’t even be coy with him. Normally, I’d draw out the conversation, tease the person. Make them specifically admit they wanted to take me out on a date. Not this time. “Yes, I’d love that.” 

He beamed. “Great. I get off shift in about 20 minutes; think you’d be ready then?” 

“Yes, I think so.” 

He knocked his ring on the table, “Awesome. Meet you in the lobby?” 

I nodded. He backed out of the room, clapping his hands together as he continued to beam at me, chuckling nervously as he did. He finally tore himself away and was out of eyeshot. Squealing internally, I quickly packed up the photographs in their proper order and put them in the evidence box. I stole away to my guest locker and grabbed my purse, making a b-line to the bathroom. I was thankful I packed some of my make-up with me. I thought about smearing some lip gloss over my lips, but thought that might overdo it…it has also been my experience that many people don’t like the taste of lip gloss; I certainly don’t. I wasn’t much of a Lip Smackers girl either…especially not after Vanessa. Eh, I opted to put on a bit of lip balm, just to smooth out my lips…just in case. 

I don’t why I’m expecting anything. He’s being nice; I shouldn’t assume he wants sex. We’ve barely talked. I also probably shouldn’t move to fast with him…but then again I’m on a tight schedule…and I’m assuming anyway that he wants to fuck me. I know that I want to, at the very least, know what it’s like to kiss him. He looks like a good kisser, though I’ve been wrong before.

I glanced at my watch. I’d been empty-staring at the mirror for nearly fifteen minutes. Great. I fluffed my hair and tugged on my shirt. I wasn’t wearing the worst outfit I’d ever worn, but it certainly wasn’t something I’d wear on a date…not that this was a date. I made my way to the lobby. There he was. 

His demeanor was completely different than it had been just minutes ago. He seemed more guarded, more polite than before. Still, he smiled at me, even if it didn’t contain the same warmth it had before. I chose not to think too much on it and determined to have a good time. 

The sun had been up for about an hour. Tailoring my sleep schedule to this particular team’s work schedule had been a bit of an odd request, but I was relatively nocturnal, so I didn’t mind so much. Besides, the building felt cooler at night. 

The ride to the diner was quiet. He asked if I wanted to listen to anything specific on the radio, and I graciously said I didn’t care, and he left it on the country station it was tuned to. I loathe country music, but I was willing to do just about anything to get him to feel at ease around me. I wonder what had happened in those twenty minutes that changed his demeanor towards me. I felt like he was some sort of escort or a Big Brother…shit. 

“Is there something wrong?” I asked once we were seated and had ordered. He had barely made eye contact this entire time, and we were seated right across from each other in the booth. 

“No,” he said quickly. Liar. 

“Are you sure?” I knew I probably shouldn’t be asking; he wasn’t telling me because he wanted to be nice. I needed to hear him say it though. 

“Fine,” he said, rolling his neck uncomfortably. “I was caught off guard when I was told that you’re eighteen years old.” 

I feel back against the back of the booth defeatedly. “Oh,” was all I could manage to say. What I really wanted to do was scream and yell and mock him for being a coward, or at least part of me did. The other part yearned to be able to give him what he really wanted—me, at least three years down the road, a senior in college or graduate, not a recent high school grad. 

What more could I say. I decided to change the subject and follow in the polite suit. “Thank you for taking the time to take me to a local joint here in Vegas. I was getting a bit bored of take-out,” I forced a small laugh and smile. 

He smiled politely in return, “You’re welcome.” 

Our food finally came after what felt like hours. We ate in silence for an eternity before Nick finally broke in, “So what exactly does an eighteen-year-old do for the F.B.I? Is that even legal?” 

I smirked into my coffee cup. “Well, I have the advantage of being the daughter of a Special Agent, which is an advantage for the Bureau—I don’t really have to be paid for my work, at least not as much as an older, independent analyst would be. It’s not free labor by any means, just cheaper. I mostly just work on my father’s cases.” 

“And you do what exactly for him?” 

“Patterns. I look for details; pieces of information people may have missed. I’m overly analytical, and I pick out and form connections that most people wouldn’t think of or come up with. Most of the work I do is very circumstantial, but my father trusts my instincts, and the Bureau largely has too.”

“This is what you plan to do for the rest of your life?” He asked, as the waitress poured both of us a fresh cup of coffee for the third time, this time leaving a carafe at the table. 

“Fuck no,” I said, wincing slightly at the volume of that statement. Steadying my voice, I continued, “I’m going pre-med in fall at UPenn—ultimately I want to be a trauma surgeon.” I noticed that during my explanation of my job and future aspirations soften his expression, forming into one that harkened back to the face that had asked me out a little more than an hour before. 

“That’s a really clear path; how long have you wanted to be a surgeon?” He asked, his brown eyes fixated on me finally. 

“As long as I can remember. Such a cliché, I know, but I’ve got pictures of me dressing up as a doctor for like every Halloween when I was a kid, and then I started doing research papers in school about new medical advances, particularly to trauma patients. It fascinates me, and I really want to help people.” I couldn’t believe I’d just spewed all this to him. A guy I barely know who was disgusted with me as soon as he found out my age. Damn it if he wasn’t so easy to talk to. But I wasn’t going to let this be a one-sided confession session. “You always wanted to be a CSI?”

Nick laughed, “Not exactly.” 

“No,” I asked playfully, “You wanted to be some big football star or something?” 

“Something like that.” His face rested in a neutral expression. I hoped that I hadn’t offended him or hit a nerve. “I never made the cut in college, no scholarship or anything, but I played some intramural baseball, stayed active. I was a cop for a few years in Dallas after I graduated.” 

“What made you make the change over to the lab?” 

He shrugged, “Didn’t necessarily like getting shot at all the time; but most of the time the job was pretty mundane at the level I was at. It didn’t excite me. So, I made the change over in Dallas and moved out here almost two years ago.” 

“Wow, those are some pretty big changes,” I said as the waitress brought the check. We both reached for our wallets. 

“Woah now,” he said, waving away my card as he put his plastic down on the small tray, “I asked you here, so I’m going to pay.” 

“Are you sure; I feel like the least I could do is go Dutch—” 

He shook his head, and before I could protest, the waitress took the bill. “Thank you,” I said. I wanted to say much more than that, but the timing wasn’t right…doubtful that there ever would be a right time. 

He offered to take me back to my hotel and I accepted. I could tell he balked a little when I told him I was staying at the Tangiers, but kept his opinions to himself. The car ride was just about as quiet as the first one, although the tension had mostly dissipated, assuming I read his fingers tapping on the steering wheel in unison with the beat of the music to be a relaxed quirk. 

He drove me to the entrance and told me to have a good night…the irony was not lost on me as the shade of the overpass of the hotel kept the already blazing sun from searing my skin. I wished him the same and watched him drive off. I doubted I’d speak to him again.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick's in Inara's hotel room...for work or for pleasure?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, starting the smut part of the fic! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this!

For about a week I was right. I decided that it was a bit too uncomfortable for me to go back to the lab, and could be just as, if not more productive in my hotel room as I had been there. My human contact became severely limited. I think I knew room service better than just about any other guest staying. My father was a ghost to me. I would slip my findings under his door. I never knew if he was there or not, and quite frankly it didn’t really matter. So long as the case would just hurry up and be done so I could go home. 

On the sixth day after my disastrous meal with Nick, a knock sounded at my door. I’d just ordered take out and thought it was the delivery guy. Instead, there he was, standing there, holding up a manila envelope. He looked shocked to see me. “Hi. Um, is your dad home?” 

“He’s in 808. This is 708,” I said, slightly stunned at the sight of him. I cringed internally at the way I looked—boxers and a white tank top; I hadn’t bothered to put on a bra and hadn’t showered since yesterday morning…my hair was a mess. Although I knew he was no longer interested, seeing him again looking like this wasn’t ideal. 

His eyes were slightly averted. He shifted and chuckled nervously, “Okay.” 

“It’s so I don’t have to hear him fucking some hooker in the next room, but he’ll easily remember where I’m supposed to be,” I said, leaning against the door frame, trying to appear as nonchalant as I could. God, why do I have to look like a slob? “Not that you needed to know that, but there you are. What do you want, Mr. Stokes?”

He winced a bit at my formal address. I realized I was being a bit unfair to him, but I couldn’t help it. 

He held up the manila envelope, “I was told to drop these photos of the crime scene off to him—” 

“Actually, those are for me,” I said, holding my hand out. He handed the envelope to me and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Is there something else?” 

“Generally the photos of an active case aren’t supposed to leave the lab, but there exceptions made because it was an F.B.I. special agent requesting them. Since it’s you…” he trailed off. 

“You’re not sure I’m supposed to be trusted with such evidence without supervision,” I finished for him, annoyance flaring in my voice. I cleared my throat and opened the door a bit wider and retreated into the room. “Come in and supervise.” I could’ve told him off I suppose, since looking at pictures is literally my job, but I had to admit that I wanted him around. 

His hands were still shoved in his pockets as he shuffled into the room slowly, closing the door behind him. I took the photos out of the envelope and began laying them out on the small table. In my peripheral vision, I could see him aimlessly standing in the middle of the room. “I’m sorry there aren’t more chairs in the room, but you’re welcome to sit on the bed.” 

He continued to stand, looking more and more uncomfortable. I sighed and got up from my chair and pushed it in his direction. “Please sit; you’re making me uncomfortable with you just standing there.” I tried to soften my words by smiling. I don’t know if I made it better. At least he sat down. I turned back around to set about my task again. 

A few minutes later, there was another knock on my door. Finally, it was my take-out. I stacked the photos on the corner of the table and took out the contents of the bag. I’d ordered one of everything I usually liked from a Chinese food place, just in case…so it ended up being a lot of food. I pointed at the food and asked, “Are you hungry? As I’m sure you can see, I have plenty here.” 

He smiled politely, “What do you have?”

I laughed, “A lot. Come over here and pick for yourself.” He stood up and walked the short distance up to the table looking at the different Chinese food dishes I’d ordered, smiling a little to himself. I could feel my pulse quicken at his nearness. God, how I longed to feel his hands on my body, his lips, just all of him near me, on me…in me. 

He grabbed one of the cartons and a water parked himself on the edge of the bed. I turned to him and leaned against the table, spoils in hand. We ate in silence. I continued to stare at him, and though I’m sure I was making him uncomfortable, I couldn’t help but wonder why he was here. He could’ve taken the pictures back to the lab, making me come there to study them. More logically, he could’ve just left me with them, since I’d been doing this job shortly after we arrived in Vegas. What if, like me, he wanted to be close to me? I was sure he felt the connection, the attraction, last week. Maybe it hadn’t gone away as quickly as I had thought. 

“Tell me, if I was 19, would you fuck me?” I blurted before I even realized it. 

“Excuse me?” Nick said, choking on his water.

“If I was 19 or 20, would you sleep with me? Is it just the age? It’s not illegal. I’m 18. You’re not going to get in trouble.” 

He averted his gaze, “Yeah, it’s not illegal, but, I’m just—”

“Nearly 9 years older. Congratulations, we can all do simple math. Why does it have to matter? Did you think I was 18 when you saw me?”

“No, but—” 

“How women have you fucked?” Nick’s eyes got wide. I was equally surprised at myself, but somehow, I had a clear train of thought and I ran with it. “It’s relevant. Also, it’s just a number of people you’ve had sex with. I’m not asking for names and bios.” 

“I don’t know; I don’t keep a running tally in my head.”

“Really? Okay, fine, an estimate?” 

He scoffed at me. After a moment’s pause he said, “Maybe like 10.” 

“Ten?” How could a man as well built and attractive only have slept with ten women in his lifetime? 

“Yeah, at most.” 

“Ah, okay. Well, me too.” 

Confusion filled his eyes. Honestly, this is not necessarily something I thought I’d be telling a straight-as-hell guy before I’d even gotten around to kissing him, but it was already too late to backtrack. “I’ve slept with 9 girls.” 

“You’re a lesbian?” He looked at me, his eyes scanning my body. 

It was my turn to scoff at him, “Well maybe I would be if I also hadn’t slept with 10 guys.” 

“You’ve what?” 

I took a deep breath. “I’ve had 19 sexual partners in my life; I became sexually active when I was sixteen. Out of those 19 individuals, I’ve had one relationship that lasted close to a year.” I noted his stunned face. “I’m sure you’re thinking I’m a slut.” 

“No,” Nick said, shaking his head vigorously. I wasn’t convinced, but I also wasn’t done. 

“The reason I’m telling you this is that I’ve got you nearly doubled in terms of quantity, but I would certainly hope that you’ve had better quality sex. One could argue that, despite our age, we are equal in our sexual experience, because the quality cancels out the quantity.” I took a large gulp of water when I finished my spiel. 

He stared at me, speechless.

“So, I ask you, Nick Stokes, if I wasn’t 18, would you fuck me?”

Nick swallowed hard, processing what I just said. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed. I pushed away from the small table I was leaning against and walked over to him. I gently placed my hands on his shoulders and straddled him, looking him in the eye. 

I lightly tugged his right hand and placed it on my beast and held it there, still keeping his gaze. His hand was warm and cupped my breast, some of his skin touching mine. His fingers instinctively flexed, lightly squeezing me. I began to feel myself getting wet. “Do you still think I’m too young?” I asked gently as I wrapped my free fingers around the back of his neck, securing some of his sable hair between them. 

Nick’s breath hitched as his left hand slowly inched up my thigh, applying light caressing pressure as he did so. I could feel myself tremble at his touch, yearning for more. 

I removed my hand from his right hand and rested it on his face, tracing one of his laugh lines and gently pulling him towards me as I closed the small gap between us. 

His lips were warm and wet, his tongue strong and able. A soft moan escaped from the back of Nick’s throat. He pushed back on me, but only so he could free his hand pinned between our bodies. He pulled me more securely onto his lap with both of his hands, holding my hips in place, attempting to stay my instinctual rhythmic grinding from arousing him any further.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up right where the last chapter ends, Inara finally gets a taste of Nick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry it's taken forever to update!! I realize that I really didn't deliver on my promise of smut, so with this chapter, it's all smut, and it's my longest chapter thus far, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Love to here your thoughts!

He inhaled deeply has he pulled away from me, his hands firmly grasping my hips. “Maybe we should stop,” he said, unconvincingly. 

My hands rested at the base of his neck, my fingers lightly massaging his neck still. I didn’t want to stop. I could feel his erection through his jeans, and I knew my panties were already getting soaked. “Is that what you want?” I asked, looking him in the eye. They were churning with desire, mirroring my own, I’m sure. 

He swallowed hard. His eyes roved my face and body, his fingers flexed against my hips, his grip tightening. I squeezed his shoulders, involuntarily reacting to the harder pressure applied to my body. We were frozen. I had made the first move, he’d countered, I countered back—it was his turn, and I couldn’t get a good enough read on what he was thinking. 

“No,” he said, quietly, and recaptured my lips. He grabbed my ass and pulled me closer to him. I slowly started rolling my hips again, creating friction. As I rocked against him, my already low tank was being pulled lower; my breasts were on the verge of popping out of the well-worn fabric. I clutched at his shirt, moaning as his tongue hooked the back of my teeth. I broke our kiss and nipped at his jaw, his earlobe. I then moved down to his neck. 

One hand was still firmly caressing my ass, as his other found its way under my tank. The warmth of his hand sent a delightful shiver down my spine. I detached myself from his neck and went to kiss him again. He smiled at me, wrapped his arms around me and stood up. In one smooth, swift move, he laid me on my back. He stood at the foot of the bed and took off his shirt. I sharply inhaled. He was beautiful. A sun-kissed tan covered his torso. His chest was beautifully defined—not so ripped that he still wouldn’t be soft to hold. 

I sat up and pulled my tank off, locking eyes with him as I did so. I tossed it aside, then laid back down, my arms above my head, my legs spread out suggestively. I saw him swallow hard again as he slowly climbed onto the bed. I could feel his warmth radiate off him, already filling in the space between our bodies as he hovered over me. 

He tenderly kissed me. He then left hot mouthing kisses trailing along my jaw down to my neck, continuing to my collarbone and then finding one of my breasts. His lips closed around my nipple and his tongue swirled around as he sucked it to hardness. I grabbed onto my wrist to keep my arms in place. It was all I could do to not reach for him and rake my nails down his back and pull his hair. But the last guy I did that to shrieked and left me high and dry. He hadn’t seemed as gentle as Nick. Besides, this self-restraint was keeping me turned on. 

Nick moved on to work on my other breast; the nipple he left felt cold in the aftermath of his wet kiss. My small moans and gasps grew louder as he continued to make his way down. He reached the edge of my boxers before he suddenly sat back on his knees. I could see his cock pushing against his jeans. His chest heaved with what I thought was desire, until I looked at his eyes. They were filled with mild panic. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up on my elbows. 

“I…” he cleared his throat, “I don’t have a condom.” 

“Oh,” I said, trying to repress a smirk, “is that all?” He frowned at me. “Because I have those.” I scooted off the bed and walked over to the closet. I unzipped a small toiletry bag and pulled out two boxes. I turned to Nick, still resting on his knees, though his gaze had followed me to the closet. “What size do you need? Regular or large?” I asked, cocking my head to one side slightly, smiling. 

I’m pretty sure he blushed a little. “Regular.” 

I walked back to the bed and set both boxes on the bedside table and reached in the regular box for a condom. “So,” he said, chuckling nervously, “you always carry condoms with you when you travel?” 

Turning to him, smirking, “Actually yes. You never know when you’ll need one,” I gave him a pointed look, “and, I always keep them in stock for my dad, actually.” 

Nick’s eyebrows raised at that.

“I know that sounds strange, but my dad is voracious when it comes to sex and he’s really bad at staying stocked up, so I do it for him, and I’m free to help myself to the stash should the need arise,” I explained, holding up the condom between two fingers. “Now,” I continued coyly, “aren’t we lucky that I have such forethought?” I giggled a little. 

He let out something between a sigh and a laugh. “I guess so,” he conceded, smiling at me. 

“Take your pants off and lie down,” I instructed. 

He chuckled, “Yes, ma’am,” letting his drawl grow thicker. He backed off the bed and unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans, sliding them down and stepping out of them. His erection tented his boxers as he slid them off, freeing his cock.

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. 

“What?” He asked, confusion and nerves clouding his dark eyes. 

“You wear regular sized condoms?” I asked, incredulous. Sure, maybe his cock wasn’t much longer than the average length, but dear lord his girth was certainly above average. 

“Yeah,” he said as he shifted his weight. “Why?”

“Don’t they feel tight?” 

“Well, yeah, that’s what they’re supposed to do…right?” he said, turning a bit crimson and shuffling his feet. 

I couldn’t help but scoff sympathetically, “Oh, honey, no. That’s how they break. Has that ever happened to you?” 

He looked down at the ground, “Only once.” I clearly embarrassed him. Shit. I set down the condom I still had in my hand and reached for one of the larges. I walked over to him and lightly touched his arm. 

“Lie down,” I said, gently, encouragingly. He complied. I slipped free of my own boxers and panties and then climbed onto the bed after him and straddled him. I felt his cock twitch under me as I leaned in and captured his lips. I nipped at his bottom lip and then left hot wet kisses as I made my way down his chest and torso. His breath hitched as I worked. I scooted down a little on the bed and took his cock in my hand and stroked it. I never thought I had small hands, but it was a bit hard to close my hand around him. I continued stroking him and bent over to lick down his shaft and wrap my mouth around the head. I tasted his pre-cum as I stretched my lips over his head, twirling my tongue around it. He moaned and bucked his hips forward. Thankfully my hand was pressed against his hip, or else I probably would’ve gagged far worse than I did. 

I detached myself and opened the condom, rolling it down his length, still stroking him. “How does that feel?” I asked gently. 

He didn’t respond except to pull me to him and kiss me, hard and deep. He rolled me onto my back and I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers intertwining through his short hair. He moved down to my neck again, nipping at my skin. I tugged at his hair and dug my nails a bit into his scalp. He grunted against my neck. He lifted his head, a hungry grin affixed to his face. His hands roved my body, his calloused fingers skirting over my skin. His mouth followed his fingers down my body. He reached my hips and began to slide down the bed, only to realize that our position wasn’t exactly conducive to what he had planned. In turn, I moved up towards the headboard and propped myself up, splaying my legs open lazily for him. 

Smiling gratefully, he moved towards me, kissing me, my stomach, and then moved down to my thighs and finally arrived at my vagina. His arms encircled my thighs as his tongue began to massage my clit. My hands moved to his head and rested there, careful not to push down hard. Still, I couldn’t keep my fingers from running through his hair as he slightly bobbed his head. A series of low moans escaped from the back of my throat as I started gasping. His hot mouth pressed against my vagina, his tongue wrapped around my clit—pressing, massaging, nipping—he was good, and I could feel an orgasm building within me, the pressure mounting deliciously. 

He must’ve sensed that I was close, because he lifted his head. His chin was slick with my sex. His eyes shone with desire. He grabbed my hips and pulled me down the bed so that my head now rested on the pillows. I inhaled sharply and bit my lip wantonly at his sudden movement. He hovered over me, one hand propping himself up at my side, the other stroking his cock. My hand reached for his extended bicep as the other came to rest on his shoulder. 

He rubbed his cock against my vagina, teasingly. My hand moved from his shoulder to his neck as I pulled him in for a hot, wet kiss. He returned with aching fervor. I tore my lips away from his and whispered, “I want you inside me.” 

His breath hitched at my words and a smile spread across his face as he moved to comply. He guided his cock to my slit and began to thrust into me. I involuntarily cried out, my fingers digging into his skin as his girth stretched me further than I had anticipated. He gasped and froze and searched for my eyes, “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?” Concern took over his features as he tried to distance himself from me.

“No!” I said, more forcefully than I had wanted. I reached for him and closed the distance between us. “No,” I continued, gentler now, and smiled, “I just…we just need to go a little slower…if that’s alright. Just until I get used to you.” I leaned back against the mattress, my hands resting on his arms. “You didn’t hurt me, Nicky,” I said, locking my gaze with him.

He leaned over me and stroked my face gently. I pressed into his touch, craving even the smallest trace of him on me. “Are you sure?” He said, his voice still thick with concern. 

“Yes,” I said, wrapping my hands around his neck. 

He kissed my forehead. Reclaiming my gaze, he reached down and slid a finger into me. I moaned. “How does that feel?” He asked. 

“So good,” I replied. “More, please.” 

A small smile lit his face as he added another digit inside of me, thrusting lightly. I groaned, “More,” as I licked his neck, moving up to nip his earlobe. Three of his large, calloused fingers thrust in and out of me, slowly, deliberately.

I wanted, needed more. I reached down and found his cock. I stroked it. He pulled his fingers out of me and wrapped his hand around his cock as well, our fingers overlapping. I raised my hips slightly and took a deep breath. Nick slowly, gently guided his cock into me. I rested my head in the crook of his neck, taking deep, measured breaths. As he eased his length into me, I made sure to say as many breathless yes’s as I could. 

When he was fully inside me, he paused for a moment. I rolled my hips under him, causing him to moan. He set a slow pace, similar to the one he’d made with his fingers. He tugged lightly on my hair and his tongue slid over my bottom lip before pushing its way into my mouth. He pushed my back flat against the bed and took my breast in his mouth. 

I moaned. I needed more friction, as I’m sure he did too. “Faster, Nicky,” I breathed, my hand caressing the base of his skull as he suckled at my breast. 

He complied, thrusting into me harder. My breath hitched. God, he felt divine as he pressed into me, stretching me little by little. I needed more friction. “Nicky?” 

“Yes?” he said, quickly detaching from my breast. 

I wrapped my arms around his neck again, pressing my body to his. “Can you rest back on your knees?” 

He nodded and lifted me with him as he complied, holding me securely to him. I wrapped my legs around him as he sat back. He settled into the new position and continued thrusting into me. I moaned loudly as I bucked my hips in time with his thrusts, receiving the friction I craved. Nick’s breath grew heavier at the new pace. I could feel his body tensing. A similar pressure was building in me. 

“I’m close,” I hotly breathed into his ear. 

I rocked against him harder now, our moans intermingling with each other’s now. I reached my orgasm first, and muffled my ecstatic cries into Nick’s shoulder. His thrusts became more erratic as his body tensed and he grunted into my breasts as he came. 

I pulled him into another kiss, one that still held both our passions but slowly melted into a gentle, sensual one. Nick laid me back down onto the mattress and rolled over to my side. Our chests heaved as we panted, breathless. A smile spread across my face as I finally, fully processed what had just happened. Nick got up and walked to the bathroom. He really does have a nice ass. A few moments later he emerges. I switch places with him. 

When I get out, I see him starting to gather his things. I smile, trying to mask my disappointment, “So cuddling isn’t really your thing, huh?” 

He looked up at me, smiling at me sheepishly, “It’s not that…I just have to go home, shower, get some sleep before my next shift…that kind of thing.” 

“Yeah, no, of course,” I said, still unable to shake the feeling of disappointment.

As he started to pull on his boxers, an idea came to me. “You know, if you want, you could always shower here,” I offered. 

He stopped what he was doing at looked at me, a coy smile playing at the corner of his lips, “Is that so?” 

I beamed at him and started backing towards the bathroom, my hand extended towards him. He walked to me and took my hand. As I turned on the water, his hands traced over my skin. I stepped under the warm spray and he followed suit. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, his hands pulling my hips towards him. I placed my hands on his chest, feeling the water cascade down his skin. I turned to grab the shampoo. I suddenly remembered a question I’d forgotten to ask him. Handing him the shampoo after I deposited some in my hand, I asked, “So, I meant to ask—why have you been using condoms that are too small?” 

He paused mid-lather to look at me, his face becoming more flushed. “I was going out with this girl in high school, and we were, you know, getting pretty hot and heavy, and she’d actually brought up ‘rewarding’ me after the homecoming game.” He cleared his throat, “So, the day of the game, I asked my brother if I could have a condom. He gives me one from his stash and that was that.” 

“And you never asked him if it was normal for you to feel uncomfortable?” 

“And risk being made fun of by my big brother?” 

“You never did that thing?” 

He looked at me, puzzled.

“Never compared your penises to each other and noticed that you were bigger than him?” 

Nick blushed a deep crimson. I backed off. 

“Well, I’m glad at least you didn’t go your whole life not knowing,” I said, chuckling a little. 

“Thank you,” he said, slightly sarcastic. 

“I should be thanking you,” I said after a few moments, tracing his pec with my finger. 

“What for?” He said, placing his hand on he small of my back. 

“For proving to me that having sex with men can be truly satisfying and pleasurable,” I said, nuzzling his neck. 

“Oh, really?” He said, his eyebrows raised quizzically. 

“If you recall, the only dating pool I’d been working with until recently were eighteen and nineteen-year-old boys,” I said, laughing. 

He winced a little, “Yeah, we’re generally pretty eager fellas, but, uh, precision isn’t our strongest suit,” he chuckled. 

I went back under the shower head to finish rinsing off. Nick came up behind me and wrapped one arm around me, the other brushing my wet hair away from my neck. He left a trail of kisses up and down my neck as his hand traveled to my breast, cupping it, tweaking my nipple. I placed my hands over his, a low moan escaping from my lips.

If we kept this up he wouldn’t be going home. As much as I would’ve loved that, I didn’t want to get him in trouble. I pushed against him and turned off the water. I immediately began to shiver. Was it because of the absence of the water or his body pressed against mine? 

I exited the shower and wrapped a towel around me, handing him one as well. We dried in silence for a few moments before I walked out of the bathroom. I rummaged through my suitcase for a pair of underwear and a fresh tank. 

He walked out and began to put his clothes on. 

“Deodorant?” I offered, extending him the fresh scented stick. 

Leaving his pants unbuckled he walked towards me, reaching for the item. Instead of immediately taking it, he again pulled me to him and parted my lips with his. “Can I see you again?” He whispered in my ear as he broke our kiss. 

I nodded, breathless. His face crinkled as his signature smile overtook his face. “I’m off day after tomorrow. Take you to dinner and then…” He squeezed my ass as he let his words trail off. 

I gasped, again only able to nod. He stole another kiss before retreating across the room to finish dressing. He walked towards the door, then turned to me, “Seven o’clock, meet me in the lobby.” He winked and walked out. 

I was still holding the deodorant.


End file.
